Mercy
by itsmadyagain
Summary: When Marceline wakes up in the middle of a World Power's conference, no one is sure what to do. Is she good, is she evil? Time goes by, and they're willing to let her stay until she remembers who she is and where she's from. A certain Italian is more than willing to help her along the way, but can she get close when she knows she may have to leave?


**PROLOGUE**

"Who the _hell_ is that?"

Several men halt as soon as they step into a large, seemingly empty room. A long table rests in the center, surrounded by dozens of old and worn wooden chairs. A blackboard stretches across one of the shorter walls of the rectangular room, a few faces and hasty notes scribbled around them. It wouldn't make a lick of sense to anyone other than the large group crowding the doorway.

One man, his blonde hair shaggy and sticking up a bit in the front, steps cautiously forward. He pops the collar a little on his brown jacket and moves toward the collapsed figure lying on the floor beside the table. He breaks into a causal, albeit arrogant, smile and adjusts his glasses that are perched precariously on his nose. "What are we so afraid of, dudes?" he asks the gathered people rhetorically. "It's just a person. We deal with people all the time!"

"Not with unconscious people passed out in the middle of our conference room, you git," another blonde man with scruffy eyebrows and an English accent snaps, crossing his arms and giving the first man an irritated look.

The first man, an American, looks down at the body and shrugs in an offhand manner. "Looks harmless enough to me. Least we can do is wake her up, right? Figure out why she's here?"

"Are you volunteering yourself for the task, then?" the Brit assumes, raising one bushy brow.

The American grins widely once more and jabs his thumb toward his chest. "I'm the hero! Of course I'll do it! Anything to save a damsel in distress!" He then promptly leans over the girl, who looks to be no older than twenty, and taps her forehead with his index finger. "Hey, you. Time to wake up now! We've got some questions for you!"

The girl is unresponsive; the man frowns. _Well, that didn't work,_ he thinks to himself, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. _Now what?_

A brunette slips out from behind a tall, severe-looking guy with icy blue eyes and slicked blonde hair. The blonde sighs as the brunette skips merrily toward the first man's side. The curl that sticks out on the right side of his head bounces as he falls to his knees. "Hey, where do you think she's from?" he asks, looking up at the blonde with the glasses.

His Italian accent paired with his goofy expression makes the man smile. "I don't know, dude. We can ask her when she wakes up, yeah?"

The Italian nods vigorously and leans across the girl's body, grabbing her shoulder with a thin hand and shaking her gently. "Time to wake up, _bella donna_," he sings. "I'll make you pasta!"

A German, the man the Italian had slipped away from, shakes his head and sighs. "Pasta is not the answer to everything, and shaking her shoulder will not do anything. What we need is loud noise."

The Italian brunnette looks over his shoulder at the blonde German, tilting his head to the side. "But that's mean! We can't wake her up that way!" he protests, still using his same cheery voice that the others have all grown used to.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Maybe we can tickle her!"

"Dudes," the American cuts in. "I think she's waking up."

True to his word, the girl flutters her eyelids and groans, rubbing her forehead with one hand. The Italian turns back around and the Brit steps closer, giving the German a slight smirk. "There's your loud noise then, chap."

As soon as she opens her eyes, the Italian breaks into a grin. "_Buongiorno, bella_!" he exclaims.

She props herself up onto her elbows and pinches the bridge of her nose. "W-what's going on?" she asks no one in particular. "Where the hell am I?"

"You're in our conference room," the Brit says in a kind voice. "Would you mind informing us as to how exactly you got in here?"

"C-conference room?" Her voice is thick with confusion. "I don't...I don't know."

The Brit nods, furrowing his brows a bit. "That's all right, my dear. You can explain it all later. Can you at least tell us where you're from so we can get you back home? Which country, perhaps?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know," she repeats.

"She's totally from America!" the blonde with the glasses exclaims, fist pumping with a confident smirk. "Her accent's the same as mine! Am I right?" He looks down at her. She, in turn, shrugs at him. His face takes on a disappointed expression.

The Italian lunges forward and takes one of her hands in both of his. "Do you like pasta?" Warily, she nods. "Then you must be Italian, _sì_?"

"I don't _know_," she insists, getting frustrated. "I can't remember."

The Italian is completely unfazed. "My name is Feliciano Vargas," he tells her with a cheeky smile. He points over his shoulder at the German, who nods stiffly to her. "And that's Ludwig! He's kinda grumpy, but he's very nice." Ludwig gives Feliciano an exasperated look and sighs. Still carrying on with his introductions, Feliciano indicates toward another man with a curl similar to his own, the only difference being it's a darker shade of brown and on the opposite side. "And that's _mio fratello_, Lovino!"

"Shut up, you _pazzo bastardo_," Lovino snaps, rolling his eyes and looking away, arms folded across his chest.

Feliciano is unaffected by his brother's harsh words. "He's kind of a meanie, no? He's been hanging out with Antonio." The Spaniard man in question waves and smiles at her. Lovino shoots him a dirty look and huffs indignantly.

The American politely shoves the Italian out of the way, causing the girl's hand to drop back to her side. "I'm Alfred F. Jones," he declares, jabbing his thumb toward his chest. "I'm the hero!"

"I'm sure you are," she says sarcastically in response.

The Brit sets his hand on top of Alfred's head and pushes him backward, stepping around his fallen body to offer his hand to the girl. "Ignore the American git, love. My name's Arthur Kirkland." He gives her a sincere smile that she shyly returns. "And what would your name be?"

"Marceline," she says automatically. "I do remember that."

Someone chuckles from the group still by the door, and suddenly there's another blonde standing over her, this time with shaggy hair and a flirtatious smile. He grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet, catching her around the waist before she falls back down. "Oh, but that's a French name, _oui_?" he says in a thick French accent. "So you must be from my country, _non_?"

"Get away from her, you frog!" Arthur snaps. "You're freaking her out!"

The Frenchie ignores him. "My name is Francis," he purrs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "_Tu es très belle._"

"Er, thanks," she says.

Francis lets out a slight giggle. "You know, from this close, you look like the lovechild of Ludwig and Roderich."

"Excuse me?" a very dignified voice calls from the doorway. Another man stalks over, his glasses sliding down his nose with his scowl. There's a piece of hair sticking up on his head, and it waves when he walks. "I don't see the resemblance at all," he continues in his angry Austrian accent.

Francis smirks and steps aside, letting Marceline go in favor of sticking his tongue out at Arthur. Roderich, the Austrian, gets directly in front of her and leans toward her, his brown eyes narrowed. He looks her up an down, taking in her dark curls that fall to just below her shoulder blades, and frowns. He knows that the color of it is almost identical to the dark brown shade of his own. And her eyes... Icy blue, just like Ludwig's. He sniffs indignantly and says nothing, turning away and stalking back to his former standing place.

Feliciano skids to a stop in front of her, his golden eyes shining. "Ludwig, you never told me you had a baby!" Marceline scowls at him. She is nowhere near the age of an infant. The Italian ignores her angered face and puts his hands on either side of her head, grinning. "Can we keep her?"

"No," the German says curtly, crossing over to the two of them and setting a hand on the younger man's shoulder, steering him quickly away from her. "We don't know where she comes from or who she is. You're not allowed to speak to her until we're sure she's safe." Feliciano sticks out his lower lip in sadness but doesn't argue.

Marceline now stands entirely alone in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, a nervous look on her face. All of the men are staring at her, some with curiousity, like Alfred, some with hostility, like Lovino. _What are they going to do with me?_ she thinks anxiously, taking a small step backward.

Arthur clears his throat. "Have you come up with a good reason as to why you're here, Marceline?"

She bites her lip and shakes her head, shrinking away from their intense gazes. "I don't remember anything before waking up here," she says, her voice just loud enough to be heard. Arthur sighs. "W-what are you going to do to me?" she stammers out.

He chuckles softly. "We're not bad people, love. We don't intend to harm you." She relaxes a little. "That being said, we've got to figure out what to do with you now."

"She can stay with me and Ludwig!" Feliciano cheers. Ludwig smacks him in the back of the head to silence him.

Alfred gets a thoughtful look on his face and then breaks into a smile, pointing his index finger toward her with a victorious expression. "We can put her in jail until we're sure she's not a criminal!" he announces. Marceline raises her eyebrows in surprise, but, also to her surprise, all the other men nod their heads in unison.

"Ludwig, can you grab her?" Arthur asks, looking to the German, who nods in affirmation.

The girl's jaw drops open and she steps back even further. "I don't need to be 'grabbed', I'll follow you wherever you want me to go. I'm not bad, I promise!"

"Well, until we know for sure..." Ludwig trails off and approaches her, grabbing her around the waist and tossing her over his shoulder. One hand presses against her back to keep her in place while the other salutes the rest of the room. "I will be back shortly." And he carries her out of the room, Feliciano waving wildly after them.


End file.
